


Eyes of the Night

by alphaphilia



Category: Alexander (2004), Alexander (historical)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:23:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphaphilia/pseuds/alphaphilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“My lord, for all your love for Iskander, will you not save him?”</em>
</p>
<p>Bagoas had served Alexander for many years, and had come to witness and accept the relationship between the king and his favourite. But it was not until the end, when he gazed upon those eyes of the night for the last time, that he truly understood the love between the Alexander and Hephaistion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes of the Night

**PART I**  
Raucous laughter cut through the velvet songs of dulcimer and flute. Bagoas’ eyes fixed upon the barbaric Macedonians as they stampeded into the golden halls, their lustful eyes wandering over the shimmering silk draped over the bodies of women and eunuchs in the harem. 

Only one man brushed away the slender fingers clawing at his sleeves.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, a faint scar trailing across his cheek like the path of a teardrop. It did not diminish his beauty, but spoke of the battles he had endured. The dark hair that cascaded over his shoulders and framed his face softened the frown upon his tightly pressed lips. Walking around with a stately composure, he surveyed his surroundings with cautious curiosity. 

Suddenly, he lifted his eyes and met Bagoas’.

The eyes, of the night and liquid gold, had such intensity that Bagoas took a step back. The man’s lips curled slightly before his eyes shifted to his companion beside him. Bagoas followed his gaze and saw a golden-haired man walking towards him, his golden robe fluttering behind him. 

Bagoas inhaled sharply. Even after hearing about the mistake made by Darius’ mother, he himself had fallen into the same trap! 

The fat eunuch shooed the other boys away, introducing Bagoas as Darius’ favourite. Bagoas lowered his head to hide his eyes, afraid that they would betray his alarm. Alexander’s palm was warm when it lifted his chin. “What is your name?” He asked and looked to the translator.

The Persian boy did not wait for the translator. “Bagoas, my lord,” he replied, meeting Alexander’s striking eyes. Alexander smiled approvingly, and despite having practised caging his heart for many years, Bagoas could not but return the gesture.

* * *

As he expected, he was summoned to Alexander’s room that night. 

No longer in armour, Alexander was now dressed simply in a chiton, adorned only by a pendent of gold and creamy ivory hanging from a leather cord around his neck. Bagoas prostrated before Alexander, then he rose to his knees and reached for Alexander’s belt. 

Alexander jumped back and laughed nervously, his hands raised defensively. “Please,” he said, his courtesy surprising, “this is not why I summoned you.” Bagoas bowed his head, utterly puzzled. 

After Bagoas served him a cup of mixed wine, Alexander reclined on his bed and motioned for Bagoas to sit on the chair beside him. Alexander asked many questions; first about Bagoas himself, then realising that the boy only replied with what he thought least offensive, Alexander asked about the Persian court instead. This, was easier to answer. 

As he revealed the intricacies of the court, Bagoas could already hear the names he would be called. Whore. Traitor. But guilt came and went. The first lesson he learnt when he was sold into court was that survival often came with identifying and siding with the victor. The Great King had treated him well, but Iskander was the new ruler of Asia.

They talked till the darkest hours of night. Bagoas’ eyelids were heavy; when Alexander took a gulp from his cup, Bagoas pressed his sharp fingernails into his palm. His eyes still sharp and his mind apparently also, Alexander chuckled and dismissed Bagoas. 

Returning to his own quarters, the marble cold beneath his bare feet, Bagoas pondered over Alexander’s questions, attempting to understand the mind of his new master. Yet even being summoned for the same purpose for the next few nights, Bagoas found Alexander impenetrable. 

It was only a week later, on a night without stars or moon, did Alexander beckon Bagoas to come closer. Alexander touched Bagoas’ hair, black silk draped over flawless olive skin, softened by milk and oil. For all the tales of Alexander’s fiery passion in battle, he was surprisingly silent in love. Though Bagoas could not see Alexander’s expression, he imagined it to be no more passionate than when he questioned Bagoas on the organisation of Darius’ armies. 

When Alexander was spent, he did not roll aside and succumb to sleep; instead, he began talking to Bagoas animatedly, his hands waving in the air often to emphasis a point. His speech sped up and the topics of his speech switched so quickly and illogically that Bagoas began to suspect that Alexander did not talk to converse. When his Greek became infiltrated with Macedonian, Bagoas resigned to lying in the crook of Alexander’s arm silently. 

Bagoas was kept by Alexander’s side, servant by day and night. He had no qualms – he had no family, and Alexander treated him far better than any other Macedonian barbarian would. By day, he witnessed Alexander’s generosity and fury, by night, his thoughtfulness; yet his mind was still as distant and mysterious as a starless winter night. 

On a particular night, Alexander returned to his chamber when the music and dancing were yet at their peaks. He claimed to be fatigued, bored of the festival games. Bagoas knew better than to believe; his eyes and ears hidden in the shadows behind marble columns had informed him of Hephaistion’s return. Dipping a finger into the water to test the temperature, Bagoas’ dark eyes watched Alexander, who was frowning deeply over a letter. The preparation for the bath was complete, but he did not dare approach the king until he had finished with his letters. It was a grave crime to read words reserved for the king, Persian or Macedonian. 

Bagoas heard the soft sound of sandals against marble floor before he saw the tall figure at the doorway. He did not announce himself, but Alexander remained seated and silent, and there was no doubt that it was Hephaistion. Dressed in a simple cotton chiton, a silken robe of emerald and golden suns hung around his shoulders, held by an intricate sapphire pin at the dip between his collarbones. He strolled past Lysippus the sculptor and dismissed him with a wave, going behind Alexander’s bed.

His head turned towards Bagoas. Bagoas lowered his eyes quickly to the bottles of perfume in his hands. Without his sword and armour, the soldier’s humility no longer cloaked Hephaistion. He carried a cold pride, so chilling that it threatened to burn anyone that touched. From the corner of his eyes, Bagoas saw Hephaistion kiss the signet ring on Alexander’s raised hand before bending over, his necklace dangling from his neck. It was identical to Alexander’s. 

While his hands were preoccupied with loosening the knots in Alexander’s neck and shoulders, his eyes scanned the letter in Alexander’s hand. Bagoas waited for Alexander to reproach him, but no such words came. 

“Bring your mother to Babylon, Alexander,” Hephaistion said when he finished reading, his voice suitably deep and surprisingly tender, “it will bring her joy.”

Alexander scoffed and slid off the bed. “Joy?” He said incredulously, “It’s a high ransom she’s charging for nine month’s lodging.”

His elbows leaning on the golden bedframe, Hephaistion brought his hand to his lips, his dark eyes fixed on Alexander. Perhaps he too did not know what to say, Bagoas certainly would not. 

Alexander spun around. “Stay with me tonight, Hephaistion.” He was almost begging.

Bagoas kept his gaze lowered, but Hephaistion’s pointed look was sharp. Bagoas expected Alexander’s dismissal, “I will take my own bath tonight,” yet he had not anticipated the disappointment that stung his heart. 

Bagoas, eyes still lowered, retreated from the room. 

He walked quickly along the corridors lit only by torches and flickering shadows. There were two guards at each end of the corridor, but they were looking outwards. Bagoas slipped through a doorway, noticeable only by those who knew the way. The second lesson he learnt at court, taught to him many years ago by a kind courtesan, was that knowledge tipped the scale towards life or death. At the end of the long room stood a tall door painted with a portrait of Anahita, an adoring smile upon her full lips. Bagoas opened the door slowly, relieved that it did not creak. He was now behind a curtain and could hear Alexander and Hephaistion in hushed conversation.

Hidden in shadows, he pulled the curtain back a little, giving him almost a full view of the room. The two men were by the balcony, shoulder by shoulder, looking out to the glimmering lights of Babylon’s glory. “You once said that the fear of death drives all men. Is there no other force?” Hephaistion said, his eyes fixed upon Alexander, “Is there not love?”

Alexander fell silent before he muttered a reply that escaped Bagoas’ ears. Then, the confused look in his cerulean eyes disappeared, replaced by certainty. Touching Hephaistion’s face with the tips of his fingers, he announced, “You are the one I love. No other.”

Hephaistion pulled the king into an embrace, whispering soft words into his ears. An inconceivable act by Persian standards, thought Bagoas.

“Are you jealous of the Persian boy?” Alexander suddenly pulled away and asked, alarming Bagoas. Alexander sounded guilty. Hephaistion sipped slowly from his cup, his eyes lost to the Babylon labyrinth. “Are you?” This time, he was defensive.

Bagoas’ heart thumped against his ears. If Hephaistion nodded, what would happen to him? He had heard rumours of the general being his king’s lover. Those rumours were repeated mockingly with scorn, but Bagoas could not dismiss them entirely.

Finally Hephaistion chuckled and took Alexander’s cup, putting it down on a table along with his. “No, my love,” he said, turning to go inside, “I am not.”

Alexander followed Hephaistion, heaving a sigh of relief.

Hephaistion suddenly turned and gripped Alexander’s arms. Bagoas could see those dark eyes, and threatening darkness behind them. Bagoas did not understand that darkness until many years later, but Alexander did. His eyes met Hephaistion’s, prudent but unafraid. “If he harms you,” Hephaistion said firmly, “I will not ask for your permission to kill him.”

Alexander smiled, smitten, and leaned forward to press a kiss against his friend’s lips. Bagoas flinched; kings did not bestow kisses for they did not have equals. The two men gazed at each other, a nostalgic longing in their slight smiles. Bagoas observed, wide-eyed, as Hephaistion shed his cloak and lay on Alexander’s bed, a beckoning smile hung on his curved lips. Alexander approached, a keen hop to his steps. He climbed on top of his friend, knees on either side of Hephaistion’s thighs. 

Pushing the heavy fabric up Hephaistion’s thighs, Alexander lowered himself onto Hephaistion. Their eyes were locked, an unbreakable bond. Groans of pleasure escaped Alexander’s lips as their hips rocked, synchronised. He was submitting, yet not emasculated. This was a different man to the one who invited Bagoas into his bed and took him with the dominating power of a king. Bagoas had seen the king, but this was Alexander. 

Bagoas watched closely now, disgust turning into fascination. 

Alexander fell into Hephaistion’s embrace afterwards and immediately fell into a deep sleep. Hephaistion’s cold pride had melted the moment Alexander touched him, and now, he radiated a warm glow as he stroked Alexander’s golden curls, kissing his forehead and cheeks at random. When he was certain that Alexander would not be stirred from his dreams, Hephaistion pulled the furs over Alexander’s naked body before he slid off the bed and put on a robe, shielding himself from a draft coming through the windows.

He strolled to the balcony leisurely, his eyes hazy as they became lost to thoughts. It was time, Bagoas thought and turned, too hastily. His elbow knocked against the wall, making a dull but clear enough thud. 

A cold point pressed against his neck. Bagoas froze. He looked into dark eyes and forgot to look away. Hephaistion stole a look at Alexander, who remained fast asleep. The dagger went back into its scabbard. Hephaistion did not warn Bagoas; he had seen the fear in the boy’s eyes and knew he had overheard his earlier threat. 

Giving him a smile not meant to reassure, Hephaistion motioned for Bagoas to leave. Bagoas scrambled away, his hands clammy and his stomach unsettled. 

The dark eyes he saw that night haunted his dreams for many years.

* * *

 **PART II**  
Alexander could barely keep still for Bagoas to rub the cool oil on his sunburnt skin; reports from the scouts brought news of Hephaistion’s return. Impatient for the return of his friend, Alexander had put down his scrolls and took a bath, demanding to be dressed in his finest chiton. “I will have my meal with Hephaistion tonight,” Alexander instructed his page Adonis, “alone.”

Adonis dipped his head and exited the room. Almost immediately, Iason entered. “My king, a messenger brings news on Harpalos.”

Cursing, Alexander stormed off in a hurry. Bagoas did not envy the messenger. 

Only moments later, Hephaistion stepped in, freshly bathed and perfumed, though his handsome face clouded with fatigue. Many years had passed since Bagoas came within close distance to Hephaistion; he often observed the king’s favourite from faraway, but he always took care to leave before Hephaistion arrived in Alexander’s chamber. The general was older now, his hair longer and his bronzed skin more scarred. The lines on his faces ran deep, the shadows beneath his eyes darker than kohl.

Seeing that Alexander was absent, Hephaistion took a seat in silence. Bagoas struggled to keep his breathing even – Hephaistion had always instilled some sort of fear within him – and offered a cup of mixed wine. Hephaistion looked up, glaring but not angrily. Shaking his head, he dismissed the offer and leaned back, every part of his body limp except his dark eyes. 

Bagoas stood at the opposite end of the room, busying himself with polishing wine jugs, uncomfortably aware of Hephaistion’s tracking eyes. 

“Bagoas,” Hephaistion called out. Bagoas jumped. His name had never left those lips before. “You are cleverer than I expected.” 

Honeyed poison. Bagoas dipped his head; the wrong words could be fatal. He would have to tread carefully if he did not wish to suffer the fate of Krateros and Eumenes. Petulant and too proud, Hephaistion made many enemies. The king, easily angered also, often berated Hephaistion for his arrogance. But Alexander loved him too much, too blindly, and would not risk losing him. Just as Hephaistion tortured Philotas enthusiastically for betraying the king, Alexander would deal misery upon those who crossed his favourite. In the end, Hephaistion’s enemies always suffered.

“My lord, I do not understand.”

“Do not think me a fool, Bagoas,” Hephaistion said, now leaning forward. “You have great beauty, but it does not charm me as it does Alexander. At night, I keep my eyes open so his can close. I am cruel, so he can be magnanimous. I do not surround myself with friends, so he can surround himself with many. 

“I will have nothing, so he can have everything.”

Hephaistion paused. Bagoas understood. 

Hephaistion’s frequent absence allowed Bagoas to increasingly gain influence over the king. He had wielded it in vengeance against Orsines’ insult. The smell of revenge and the taste of power were satisfying, but Hephaistion would not allow it again. Alexander’s trust was not to be abused, and Hephaistion would ensure it. No, Bagoas would not try again. There was only one who was invited into the king’s mind, and he would guard the privilege jealously.

Nothing regarding Alexander escaped those dark, watchful eyes. They were seldom seen under the bright sun, but they lurked in the shadows, guarding and protecting. A beast that would not reveal its talons until threatened, but would destroy all once unsheathed. Hephaistion pursued the matter no further and sank back into the soft chair. Bagoas turned his attention back to the jugs, scrubbing them carelessly, his head pounding and dizzy. 

The door slammed opened, Alexander entered and the dark eyes immediately left Bagoas. Hephaistion rose with a smile and Alexander rushed over to embrace his friend, forgetting Bagoas’ presence. The Persian boy whispered his leave, knowing it would not be heard. 

Bagoas paused at the door. Alexander held Hephaistion’s hands, eyes sparkling, talking quickly in Greek and Macedonian. Bagoas had learnt enough Macedonian to comprehend when Alexander fell into his excited speech; yet, unlike Hephaistion, he could never follow Alexander’s train of thought. There was no other who could.

His heart ached, heavy, the sight of the two men ever a reminder that he was simply a spoil of war, Briseis to Achilles and Patroklos. Bagoas had lingered too long. The dark eyes locked onto him and it was too late to look away.

But Bagoas was surprised by the absence of hostility. The wells of darkness were too deep to spy the bottom, but on their surface, Bagoas thought he saw a spark of appreciation. It took him a moment to comprehend, and smiled resignedly when he did; from all those who surrounded Alexander, Bagoas was ironically the only who did not intrude upon Hephaistion’s influence, and as long as his presence was a comfort and nothing more to the king, Hephaistion’s love for Alexander would allow it.

Those dark eyes turned back to Alexander, their sharpness fading into tender love. Bagoas closed the doors behind him. It would be a while until he was summoned again.

* * *

 **PART III**  
He was far away from the savage music and grotesque drinking, and all was silent. Gentle moonlight spilled over the cold marble floor, a blanket of forgetful peace. He would have a few hours before Alexander returned from yet another night of reckless drinking. Approaching slowly the altar of gold and precious stones, Bagoas lowered his head and prostrated before the marble statue.

Rising to his feet, he gazed upon the statue, awed by its magnificence and likeliness to its subject. The sculptor had captured the strength of his thighs, the softness of his dark curls and his renowned beauty… yet the eyes were detached, the deep darkness that so often captured and frightened Bagoas missing. 

He clasped his hands together. 

From the moment he was sold into the court, he swore never to pray again. If the gods listened, they did not answer. But now, despite his resistance, his body and heart were servants to the king. It was too painful to watch silently as Alexander wasted away in excessive drinking and violent melancholy.

Besides, Hephaistion was no god. Bagoas had seen his mortal flaws and desires.

Man, hero or god, it did not matter.

He simply wanted Hephaistion to return to Alexander. 

“My lord,” Bagoas whispered, as though afraid to offend, “I pray nothing for myself, but only that you save the one you loved. Since you are gone, the king holds no purpose except to follow you to the house of death.

“My lord, for all your love for Iskander, will you not save him?”

Tilting his head upwards, Bagoas looked to the dark heavens. A warm breeze held his body and caressed his cold cheeks, apologising regretfully. He had known it in his heart, but now, he fell to the ground and cried, a numbing sadness sweeping over him as tears began falling from the eyes of the sorrowful night.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Part I is very much inspired by Oliver Stone’s Alexander (2004), Part II more so by history, and Part III by my imagination.
> 
> 2\. The “mistake made by Darius’ mother” refers to her mistaking Hephaistion for Alexander when they visited the tent that held Darius’ family, captives after the war of Issus.
> 
> 3\. Orsines was a Persian commander who had taken charge of Parsagada. When Alexander arrived, he offered gifts to Alexander and his friends, but when told that Bagoas was Alexander’s favourite, Orsines said that “he paid his respects to the king’s friends, not his whores”. In revenge, Bagoas filled Alexander’s ears with false accusations against Orsines, who was eventually executed. This was described in Quintus Curtius Rufus’ _The History of Alexander_.
> 
> 4\. Described in Plutarch’s _Life of Alexander_ , Krateros was a trusted general who did not get along with Hephaistion. When eventually they drew swords on each other, Alexander called Hephaistion a “fool” and “madman”, telling him, “without me, you are nothing”. However, soon after, Krateros was sent back to Macedonia as regent – banishment disguised as promotion. 
> 
> 5\. Eumenes was Alexander’s chief secretary and often clashed with Hephaistion. According to Plutarch’s _Life of Eumenes_ , Eumenes’ servants once requisitioned a house for Eumenes, but Hephaistion threw them out and gave the house to a flute player instead. Plutarch described Alexander’s reaction: “Alexander at first entered into his quarrel, and sharply rebuked Hephaistion; but he soon changed his mind, and turned the weight of his displeasure upon Eumenes, thinking he had behaved with more disrespect to him than resentment against Hephaistion.”
> 
> 6\. Philotas, son of the general Parmenion, was implicated in a plot against Alexander’s life. Krateros, Koinos (Latinised as Coenus) and Hephaistion were responsible for torturing and obtaining a confession out of Philotas. 
> 
> 7\. Alexander’s pages (Adonis and Iason) are of my own creation.
> 
> 8\. After Hephaistion’s death, Alexander asked the oracle of Siwah whether Hephaistion could be worshipped as a god; the request was refused and Hephaistion was granted the status of hero instead. However, Alexander ignored Siwah’s instructions, and Hephaistion was worshipped as ‘God Coadjutor and Saviour’ ( _Alexander of Macedon_ , Peter Green). This is what Bagoas was referring to in “Man, hero or god, it did not matter.”


End file.
